


The Final Goodbye

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Longings [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Series Four Spoilers, season four spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: I don't want to give anything away by describing it. Suffice it to say, there are spoilers for Series/Season Four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man...this latest season was hard for me to watch--especially the last episode. This installment was even harder for me to write.  
> I'm not saying that as far as my writing goes, that this particular series won't pick up again, but for now I am posting Part 10 and leaving it be while I work on other stories. If anyone enjoys my writing, I do have a different universe of Sherlock characters which I will be posting soon, and I may be doing some drabbles as well...hopefully all fluffy and happy...this has wiped me out emotionally!!!!!!!  
> There are spoilers to Season/Series Four, so tread lightly if you haven't watched that far!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_I am not a good man._

_I am not a kind or a decent or an honourable man. There have been many things which I have done—for my family, my country, and yes, myself—for which I am ashamed, but from which I will not turn away. This world demands people like me, so that people like you can live in relative peace and happiness._

_Ever since I was quite young, I have known that I was different from other people. You may not believe it, but there was a time when I tried to be like others, I strove to make friends and not enemies. The village children, and later my school mates, were cruel—perhaps this was natural, for I was so intellectually superior that I left them looking like dullards by comparison. Also, I was quite portly as well, and I lacked that spark which wins people over. In defense, I separated my emotions most stringently from my actions, and told myself the first of a series of lies, which was that I needed no one. When circumstances turned my tender younger brother into a boy who turned away from the softer emotions, I made the mistake, for which my youth cannot be an excuse, of teaching him how to separate himself from others…how to ignore his emotions and depend solely on logic, reason and his senses._

_This is one of the things for which I will have to bear the guilt for the remainder of my life._

_Spending my life alone was what I wanted and I kept it that way for many years. The idea of letting anyone in was not only anathema to me, it was inconceivable._

_But then I met you. For a time I denied my growing feelings, and when that did not work, I tried to bury them. When that failed to prove effective, I withdrew from your life and did my best to genuinely wish you happiness with Tom, even though I knew he was not worthy of you. After the bleak year in which I kept away, to see you again, and have you make it clear that you reciprocated my feelings...well; I allowed myself to enjoy just a moment of what I can tell you is the happiest I have been since my youngest days. However, real life intruded and I knew that I had to make the hard decision, for both of us._

_You may disagree (in fact, I can hear your indignant tones in my head even as I write) but I know that of all the difficult choices with which I have been faced, to walk away from you and leave you with an, if not broken, certainly wounded heart, is hard, but right. Further congress with me will only bring you pain and unhappiness. Not only does my position in life make me many enemies, who would find you a tender target, but there is this, too—I cannot be the type of man to bring you lasting joy._

_Some of my chickens are coming home to roost, and I cannot bear the idea that you will be involved in any way. Severing all ties, now and forever more, is the only way I can hope to keep you safe._

_I am not a good man. But I can do this one good thing._

 

 

          There was, Molly discovered, a grief and unhappiness so extreme that it forfeited any right to tears. With shaking hands she folded Mycroft’s letter and stared sightlessly at her lap. It had been months, hard, awful months since she had last seen him. So much had happened that she hardly had time to keep up. Not long after Rosie’s birth, Mary had disappeared, to be pursued by John and Sherlock, and then in short order she was dead. John had been absolutely gutted, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson had been drafted as child-minders.

          John completely and utterly blamed Sherlock for his wife’s death, and the two of them had not had contact that she knew of, although Sherlock had tried. Then suddenly they were working together again, Sherlock was in the news accusing a billionaire of being a serial killer…it was all madness.

          Molly hadn’t had much time on her hands for her own problems, between work and looking after Rosie, but in the space that fell between the hospital and the child she had suddenly been thrust into looking after, her loneliness and longing had taken her breath away. She had kept waiting for the numbness to set in, even a little clarifying anger. But all she felt was incredible sadness and a physical craving to see Mycroft again.

          Waiting in hope might have been foolish, but now she didn’t have even that. He took away her hope and left her only the knowledge that he faced something so bad he had to separate himself from her forever. She couldn’t do anything to help him, she could only worry, and grieve with the knowledge that in all likelihood, she would never see him again.

          It was a long time later before she rose from the couch where she had sat cuddling Toby for comfort. Shuffling into the kitchen to turn on the kettle for that classic British panacea for all ills, a cup of tea, she froze and stood shaking, staring down at the sink. Surely, surely she would get over this shock and be able to function? People did not actually die of a broken heart. Eventually she would be able to act normally, feel something besides grief, think, move, smile. The buzz of her mobile penetrated her consciousness and she turned back to slice an orange. She was in no mood to talk to anyone. After a pause the buzzing resumed and she made herself move to answer. It was Sherlock. No, no, no, no...she couldn't talk to him, not him, not now.

           But a lifetime of personal loss, a worrisome nature and Sherlock's past history made her finally answer. At first she was short with him, hardly able to speak around the tightness in her throat. Then as the strangely kind tone of his voice, coupled with the sense of urgency he couldn't quite mask, and his unbelievable request that she tell him she loved him penetrated her sadness, Molly felt a cold wave of terror break over her. The day she had dreaded all her life, from the time she was a small girl in a loving household, had arrived. Something with fangs was waiting for her to make a mistake.

 

 


End file.
